Best Friend's Baby

by Mia Carson

  “I can come back here with you,” I said. “I don't wanna screw up Tyler's plans with his friend. We can just chill and have a couple beers by ourselves. It's no big deal.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Ali said. She kept taking little mouthfuls of her fruit cup, her water unopened on the counter. It was probably for the park. “Mom and Dad both have business meetings tonight, so it's not like they'll be around to yell at me, and they might have a late dinner after. Tyler probably won't be home until the stupid morning since he doesn't have work tomorrow.” She looked at me, head tilted. “You don't mind?”

  “Not at all. I'd love to have a drink with you.”

  Ali's grin lit up her entire face. I had been overreacting earlier. Trust me to think of the most ridiculous reasons behind something as simple as being sick. I left her to eat her fruit cup and went upstairs to change into something more appropriate for playing soccer with friends. I checked if I had everything I needed before meeting Ali at the door. She texted Tyler to let him know we were on our way and made sure the AC in the car was turned way, way up.

  “So,” I started, bouncing my leg up and down, “who were you talking to when I got back? I heard you when I was in the hall, but I didn't wanna bother you.”

  “Oh, no one, really,” Ali replied. “Just a good friend of mine, Jesse.”

  “Cool, cool,” I said, nodding. Why the hell did I feel so awkward? I cleared my throat and rubbed at my jaw. I would need to shave soon unless I wanted stubble all over my face. Did Ali like stubble? I had never asked her. I hadn't really paid much attention to what she liked in a guy. Now I wanted to know. I dropped my hand into my lap. Ali flipped around the radio channels before settling on a Top 40 mix. Thankfully, the drive to the park wasn't all that long because I couldn't think of anything to say. I could feel the tension in the air, and it was starting to make me jittery.

  Tyler and his friend, who introduced himself as Josh, were already there when we arrived, kicking the ball back and forth. Ali and I jogged over to join them, saying our hellos and making introductions. The two of them had decided on the place to play and put up orange cones to mark the goals. All that was left was to split up into our tiny, two-man teams and decide how many games we would play. It seemed a bit silly to have two people kicking the ball around, but from what I remembered, Tyler and Ali were both ridiculously competitive. Josh and I were gonna have our work cut out for us.

  Ali was first up with Josh playing goalie for their team, and it was my bad luck to go against her. I had forgotten about her quick reflexes. She was more a blur than anything else, and thank fuck Tyler was a good goalie because she slipped past me more times than I could count. I wiped sweat off my face with the corner of my shirt. Eventually, I discarded it, and after three goals when we swapped out who was on the field and who wasn't, Ali and Tyler did the same. Ali's eyes were on me, though, as we had a few moments of reprieve waiting for the guys to move towards me. She hadn't taken off her shirt, though I was pretty sure she had a sports bra on since we were moving around so much. She had rolled the bottom of it up and tucked it under the bottom of whatever bra she wore, and her stomach was flat and toned and shiny with sweat. I felt a tug in my groin and clenched my teeth so the curse I wanted to utter didn’t escape. Definitely not the best time to be checking out my best friend's sister.

  I got what was coming to me when Josh head-butted the ball. My reaction was just slow enough that I got hit in the stomach rather than properly catching the ball. I doubled over and wheezed, throwing the ball blindly back out. I got my breath back easily enough, but I would definitely have a bruise. Ali's eyes were still on me as I rubbed my hand across the aching area. I stared right back and wiped my brow with the back of my hand. During another quick break later, she tugged her shirt off like the boys had and redid her hair into a messy bun on the top of her head. I couldn't keep my eyes off her as she threw her head back to drink and drizzle water on her face. It dripped off her chin and onto her chest, and I felt my throat go dry.

  A couple more of Tyler's co-workers joined us before we got started again. We evened out the teams, and Ali, Tyler, Josh and I were all on the field, while the new guys played goalie. Ali stared me down, and I was so distracted by her topless form that I didn't think about the game until I was passed the ball and noticed she was running right towards me. My teammates were yelling at me to pass the ball or kick it away from her. I moved, but not quickly enough, and instead of having Ali steal the ball or kicking it away, our legs tangled and we crashed to the warm grass while the ball spun off into nowhere, no doubt to be picked up by someone else.

  She landed hard on top of me, knocking the breath out of me again, and I was instantly aware of the hot, damp, smooth skin of her sides under my bare hands and her hips pressing into mine. When she lifted her head, our lips almost brushed. I could feel the heat radiating off her skin and her breath on my face. One of her legs had ended up between mine, one of mine between hers. Her chest and stomach were flat against mine, our skin slick and sticking. I heard the guys shouting—at each other, not at us—obviously not concerned that we were hurt. We lay like that for a few seconds, but it felt longer, and I was reluctant to let Ali go, to let her get up and stop feeling her body against mine, stop feeling her eyes boring into me.

  Ali made the first move to get up. I lay on the grass for a few seconds longer, pretending to catch my breath, until Josh came over to help me up, asked me if I was okay, and slapped me on the back. I ran a hand through my hair, damp with sweat, and jogged to the side of our makeshift field to grab a bottle of water from the little pile on the ground. I drank half of it and dumped the rest on my head, needing to cool off for reasons other than the summer heat.

  The sun was turning the sky into pinks and reds when we finally called it a day. Ali came up to me with her shirt slung over her shoulder and her all but empty water bottle in her hand.

  “Still up for that drink?” she asked. “I don't care if you go with them.”

  “No. I think I could use a nice cold beer after that.”

  Ali nodded and let out a heavy sigh. “Okay, then. Cool.” She looked away, searching until she found her brother. “Hey, Tyler!” I turned and walked towards the car, using my shirt as a makeshift towel, while Ali told her brother what she was doing. I heard Tyler tell her goodbye, followed by Ali's footsteps as she jogged to catch up with me. She fell into step with me, matching my stride.

  “I need, like, ten showers,” she said. If she was feeling awkward at all, she was doing a better job of hiding it than I was.

  “Yeah, me too,” I replied.

  “Good thing we have two full baths, then,” Ali laughed. “I'll use my parents’ and you can have the hall, and then we can—well, not Netflix and chill, but Netflix and drink.” She laughed.

  We didn't speak during the drive to the house. The air conditioning felt nice, but I was covered in sweat and there was a knot in the pit of my stomach. I'd been doing my very best to control my sudden desire, but there was only so much I could do. Being alone with Ali only made it worse. She seemed cool, but her fingers were curled pretty tightly around the steering wheel. I watched her out of the corner of my eye.

  It wasn't much better when we got inside, but at least we could split up. Ali went into the kitchen, and I took the stairs two at a time and was safely in the bathroom by the time I heard her come upstairs and shut the door to the master bedroom at the end of the hall. I turned the shower on, the pounding of water against the floor helping to drown out my thoughts.

  “She's your best friend's sister,” I told my reflection as I leaned on the vanity. “Get it together. Think with your head, not with your dick.”

  I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower. My groin still ached, but at least I wouldn’t smell like sweat, and the water did feel nice on my skin. I scrubbed myself thoroughly, making sure I got every inch clean of sweat and dirt. I tried not to think about Ali down the hall doing the same. No mat
ter what I did, though, I could still feel her body pressing against mine. I sighed. It was tempting to use the advantage of being alone to properly take care of the tension coiled in my lower stomach, but I jerked my hand away and ran my fingers through my hair again, washing out any last traces of shampoo.

  ALLISON

  Getting off in the shower was becoming a really bad habit of mine, but the pressure between my legs was driving me mad. If I didn't do something about it before I went downstairs and got drunk with Mason, I would do something monumentally stupid, and that wouldn't be good for either of us. So I bit down on the side of my hand and pushed my forehead against the shower wall until my body stopped shaking and I could breathe again. I cleaned myself and stepped out to towel dry. I hugged the towel close to my body and peeked out the bedroom door down the hall. The door to the bathroom was closed, but the one to Mason's room was still open. Good, he was still in the shower. I felt a bit like a ninja as I half-hopped down the hall on the balls of my feet and slipped into my room, letting out a huge sigh of relief and leaning back against my closed door. I may have just gotten off thinking about how it had felt being on top of my brother's best friend, but at least I hadn't had to run into him right after. I’d had more than enough awkwardness without making things worse.

  My body was still a bit warm from the shower, but I put on sweats and a t-shirt anyway. I was only drinking beer, but I didn't want to feel too exposed, not until I had total control over myself again. My brain was returning to dangerous places. Maybe drinking wasn't a good idea, but I really wanted to. I couldn’t call Tyler up and say “Hey I changed my mind, come get me!” Not unless I wanted to be the designated driver, which I most definitely did not. Besides, I could totally control how much I drank. All I wanted was a nice buzz to relax before having to deal with all the aches from playing with the boys earlier, and it just so happened that Mason would be joining me. No big deal. I'd probably just fall asleep like I had last time.

  I heard the door to Mason's room shut and left mine a few seconds after to go downstairs and get everything set up as well as make sure I had enough time to compose myself before I had to see him again. Part of a six-pack was still in the fridge, so I pulled out beers for both of us and grabbed a bag of chips for snacking and took everything to the living room. I was still trying to decide what to put on Netflix when Mason finally joined me in boxers and a faded tee, his hair wet from his shower. He rubbed the back of his neck and smiled at me, twisting the scar on his lip. I could almost feel my jaw dropping and clenched my teeth to keep it closed. I almost wanted to slap myself. I needed to stop thinking like that. Bad thoughts. I shook my head sharply as if that would fling the thoughts out of my ears. I pulled my legs up against my chest.

  Mason sat next to me, stretching with a groan before putting his feet up on the table. “So,” he said, “what are we watching?”

  “Stand-up?” I suggested.

  Mason leaned forward and reached for one of the beers, cracking it open with a soft hiss. “Sounds good to me,” he said.

  I navigated to the right menu and flipped through the different shows until I settled on one that both Mason and I agreed on. I hit play, grabbed my beer, and settled back. I didn't have to be tipsy to laugh at the program, but it sure did help, and it didn't take that much for me to get drunk. I would probably have to stick to the one can of beer, maybe two, unless Mason got to it first.

  The more I drank, the more I loosened up. Touching myself in the shower had definitely helped, but the beer was getting rid of the residual discomfort I felt at being so close to the guy who had been the reason for it for the second time in as many days. I stretched out my legs like he had and crossed them at the ankle. Mason burped but immediately excused himself. It wasn't like I cared. I had grown up with Tyler, after all, and that boy could belch the alphabet. I had only managed to get part of it down, despite his best efforts to teach me.

  “I hate beer,” I said.

  Mason laughed. “Hey, let me tell you a secret.” He motioned for me to lean in a bit, so I did. “I hate it, too.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Great secret, bro,” I told him.

  “Oh, I've got some pretty good secrets,” Mason responded. “But you'd have to get me reeeaaallly drunk for me to spill the beans about those.”

  “You want the rest of my beer? I'm feeling kind of sick.”

  Mason gave me a look that said he knew exactly what I was doing and smirked in a way that made him look entirely too sexy. “Nice try, Ali,” he said, “but I'm not falling for that. And I have a higher tolerance for alcohol than you do.”

  “Only by a bit,” I mumbled into my drink. The can was starting to feel a little light, but when I shook it, I could still hear liquid sloshing around inside. I threw my head back and finished it off in a couple gulps. I discarded the empty can on the table. “You think there's more down in the basement?” I asked. “There's only, like, one more in the fridge.”

  “Why are you asking me?” Mason said. “I've been here for two days.”

  He sounded way more sober than I felt. Okay, so maybe I didn't have the highest alcohol tolerance in the world. So what? I could still have more to drink and totally be in control of my actions. Totally. “I'm gonna go look,” I announced and pushed myself to my feet with a grunt.

  “Want me to pause?” Mason asked over his shoulder.

  “Nope,” I replied, but heard the show stop anyway.

  I headed down into the basement through the door in the kitchen and used both the wall and the railing to guide myself. The stairs were a bit steep and I had slipped on them before when perfectly sober. I didn't really want to lose my footing now and tumble down when I didn't quite have the reflexes to stop myself from getting hurt. Sure enough, there were still a few cases where the rest of my family's stockpiled food and drink were. Even if I didn't have any more to drink, it would be polite of me to restock what had been in the fridge. And maybe I could have one more. Or two. They were just cans of cheap beer, after all. I wasn't going to get totally wasted.

  Being down in the cool, dark cellar meant the beer was already a decent temperature to drink, so when I brought the pack upstairs, I grabbed two more for Mason and me and put the rest of the cans where they would fit and broke up the box to be recycled. Mason was still working on his first beer, but he thanked me for the second one and waited until I was settled before unpausing our show. I opened my second beer and leaned half against the arm of the sofa and half against the back. I stopped tasting my drink after a few sips, and thank Christ for that.

  By the end of my second beer, I was definitely feeling the buzz. I still hadn't gone to the kitchen to get another drink, though, which was the important thing. I could feel myself smiling constantly, even though I couldn't feel any aching in my face from it, and I was probably laughing a little too hard at the stand-up routine. Mason had gone to get another beer from the fridge after his second but had only drunk half of it. The can sat on the table, gathering condensation and leaving a ring of moisture on the coaster. He was slumped down, giggling almost as much as I was, and at some point, he put one hand in his boxers.

  “Why do guys do that?” I asked.

  “Do what?” Mason asked back, flashing me a slightly confused look.

  “Sit all spread out and slouched down like that with their hands down like... in their junk? If I did that, I would get bitched the fuck out. I can't even sit with my hand on my boob without my dad looking at me funny.”

  “I...” Mason made a noise and pulled a face. “I don't actually know. I'm sorry. I can move my hand.”

  “It doesn't bother me,” I said and bit my tongue on quite the opposite response. “It just popped into my head because…literally, every guy I know does it, and it’s just so weird.”

  “It's comfy,” Mason replied, shrugging.

  “Well, so is sitting with my hand on my boob, but you don't see me doing it all the time.”

  “Well, maybe you sh
ould,” Mason said.

  “Maybe I fucking should,” I replied and promptly put my hand on my chest.

  “That does look comfy,” Mason said.

  There was something a bit funny in how he looked at me that made me squirm and want to move my hand, but I resisted the urge. “Boobs are good for lots of things,” I told him. “They make good pillows, they catch food, I can do this... The list goes on and on, really.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Stop looking at me like that.”

  Mason blushed and cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he said. “Zoned out a bit. Booze.”

  “Boobs, you mean,” I said. “God, guys are all the same. Put a pair of tits in front of them, and they just”—I shook my head—“turn into total idiots.”

  “I'm not an idiot,” Mason said.

  “You totally are.” I laughed at the face he pulled, shoving his lower lip out and crossing his arms over his chest with a glower. “You look like a grumpy old man.”

  “Ha ha,” Mason said flatly.

  “Oh, shut up and finish your beer.”

  “Yes, Mom,” Mason said in a mocking tone.

  I stuck my tongue out at him and slipped my hand up my shirt to hold my boob like I would have if no one was around. If he could put his hand down his boxers, I could do this. It was only fair. Mason's eyes were on me, even though he pretended to pay attention to the TV. He picked another show for us to watch when the first one ended, but the back of my neck was prickling, and I knew he hadn't stopped. I had exposed part of my stomach, but I couldn't bring myself to move my hand. I liked having him look at me. It was payback for all the times I had stared at him lately, and even before, when I had checked him out without realizing what I was doing. I bit my lip. My heart pounded, but my breathing remained steady and I didn't move, didn't let him think I was uncomfortable. We weren’t doing anything. We were just sitting on the sofa, drinking, and watching some stand-up routines. Totally innocent. Right?